The clouds were heavy, dark and full of dull thunder. Light rain was falling from the sky and the trenches were rushing in their activity. Slaves all around carried goods mined at the walls and ran around with commands being yelled at them.
Victor looked up at the sky, shielding his eyes from the rain. It was midday.
"Damian," he called, tugging at his shoulder. They were currently between horses at the stables, overlooking the trenches.
"It's midday, let's go," Victor said.
They started walking on the dirt path that sat around the trenches. They walked swiftly, for the guards walking around was more than there usually was.
They swept onto the walls of the trenches as commanding shouts from the guards barked orders to get the slaves in line who needs to switch duty.
They navigated their way into the cold trenches. The steps they take going deep into the corridors of the trench. The dark grey walls were wet with rain as flashes of light thunder lit up the walls with each flash.
The echo of pickaxes filled the corridors as the wind threw gusts against the torn tarps fixed above. The many feet moving around the wet stone surface was quick, as if the slaves rushed to finish their work. Victor and Damian walked past a pile of hay beneath the torn tarp a few meters away from the steps, it was strange to Damian because it wasn't there before and hay isn't supposed to be at the trench.
"Open the gates!" a voice from above the trench walls sliced through the rain and wind.
"The Warlords are here," Damian said in the cold breeze between the trench.
"We must be quick," Victor said.
They walked faster and turned into another trench full of scaffolding and piles of stone.
"Victor!" a familiar voice yelled, catching their attention when they saw Nathan waiting impatiently against a wall as dozens of slaves manoeuvred between them.
Time was running out when they heard the screeching of metal against stone. The stockade's front sliding gate opened under the heavy mass of the metal latticed grill. The weather started getting heavier, even when it's midday. Thunder started bellowing slowly and rain started falling harder.
"Here, take the ore," Nathan said when Victor and Damian made it to him.
"The Warlords are here and it's time we execute the plan," Nathan said, putting the ore into Victor's arms. It shined and glimmered through the wetness of the rain, revealing the iron settled within.
"Be quick," Damian said as the three started walking back to the trench's stairs.
They came out from the trenches and into the windy open. The stockade's large castle-like structure standing with age and intimidation before them. The fast wind howled between the echoes of thunder as three rows of slaves started forming in the clearing beside the gatehouse.
Around them, many slaves scuttled about between guards and mining equipment.
"Damian, I made a pile of hay bales beneath a tarp near the entrance, that is to distract the guards when those three rows walk past and you need to fall through the tarp into the hay," Nathan explained, leaving a slight shock in Damian's face.
"Is it safe?" Damian asked.
"Yes," Nathan responded, "or so I think it is."
They stepped to the back of a carriage to conceal themselves from the sight of guards. The carriage was stocked with ore, hay, weapons and chests, but a cloth tarp was tightly fastened against him, not helping but a bit to shield the goods from the rain.
"Here, take this," Nathan said, pulling a black ragged shirt from the gaps of the carriage. Slaves in the stockade wore different colours that helped the guards remember which duties slaves were tasked with. It was a sorting system to them. In this case, black slave clothes were for those who may work inside the keep outside of their normal duties.
"When you are given the blue shirt, change into this black one," Nathan held out the black shirt in front of him for Victor. When a slave finds an ore, which is rare to find, they bring it to the ore collector who gives them the blue shirt that labels them as "free for the day."
Victor put the ore on the muddy ground and took the shirt from Nathan, realizing that a convenient hood hung from it. He folded the hooded shirt and pushed it into his pants.
"Honestly, it looks no different," Nathan smiled, seeing the bulge of how Victor pushed the shirt in at the front of his pants.
"How funny," Victor responded, picking the ore back up.
"When I now get into a line where the guards need me, we'll be passing the ore collector's stall," Nathan explained, gesturing in explanatory action, he looked at Damian, "when the rows start to pass the stall, you make falling into the trench look like an accident, that would grab the attention of… hopefully all guards. Then I'll switch my position in the row with Victor, got it?" he said.
"Yes, sounds easy enough," Damian nodded, taking a deep breath.
"Let's go," Victor said.
Nathan ran out from behind the carriage to the rows lining up where guards shouted for them to do so. Before Victor could step away, Damian stopped him.
"If you get caught trying to sneak into the keep like that, you will be executed. Please be careful." He spoke. Victor means a lot to him. For the years they have been together, he always had his back. Damian didn't want to lose him at any cost.
Victor and Damian stepped out from behind the carriage, splitting ways as Damian disappeared between the busy slaves.
Victor looked up at the raging clouds, blinking profusely.
"May the gods guide us," he whispered to himself.
He looked back down and turned to his right, walking to the collector's stall that stood against a broad, mossy stone-brick wall that connects to the keep fortress.
As he paced between rain and strong wind, he turned to his left, exchanging looks between Nathan who stood in the rows, and to Damian who perfectly acted like he was packing granite above a trench wall, with the tarp he must fall through wildly flapping in the wind.
Victor looked back to his front, approaching the old man. The stall had a deep rectangular hole dug into the ground beside it, where a net hungover. It was probably for ores being collected.
"Greetings, collector," Victor greeted, stepping in beneath the thatch roof built over the stall. The old man coggled to his feet from the chair, clearing his throat with an unpleasant scratch in it.
"Give," the old man held out his arms, hastily signifying that Victor should hand over the ore. He handed the ore over to the old man, the weight descending with his hands onto the wooden table with a thud.
"Can I help…" Victor said, trying to help the poor man, but the man quickly cut him off…
"No, boy," the elder croaked, lifting the mass. Victor heard a distant and commanding voice slice through the sound of rain, he turned his head to the voice as the three rows of slaves started walking in his direction.
He started getting impatient as the old man slowly crouched to open the net upon the ore hole. This man is slower than my death, he thought. The collector rolled the ore into the hole under the net, taking his time to fasten the net again.
Victor turned around, glancing from the slaves getting closer, to Damian who was perplexed in the situation. He took a look back at the old man slowly coming to his feet. He heard the march of slaves getting louder as they came closer.
The old man tardily opened a wooden crate as a flash of lightning startled Victor in his lack of patience. The man scrabbled through the crate in search of a blue shirt but moans as he couldn't find one.
The rows of slaves started passing by the collector's stall. Victor felt hopeless again, knowing that it's only for him to access the Keep. His attention was focused on Nathan who was walking in a line. Nathan gave a baffled look at him, cursing at the old man.
A sudden scream reaped through the sounds in the air, followed by a hard and distant tear echoing into ears all around. He narrowed his eyes searchingly through the rows, trying to find the place where Damian stood, only to realize that he must've made the fall. The tarp wasn't there.
The slaves walking in line beneath thunder filled clouds was suddenly halted by the command of the guard. All of these slaves wore the black ragged shirt Nathan gave him.
"What is the fuss?" the old man reacted, turning his head to the trenches. Victor turned back to face the collector, seeing the blue ragged shirt that the man was holding.
Oh, thank gods, he thought, relieved.
The old man held out the top, "take, boy," he managed. Victor grabbed the shirt and unsuspectingly hurried around the large mossy wall to change after the collector started limping towards the event.
Meanwhile, Damian was laying on his back with a torn tarp haphazardly wrapped around him. The strong, cold wind whistled through the corridors of the trench, sweeping away part of the tarp that was over his face. He coughed as the wetness of the rain drizzled into his throat, accompanied by the strain in his back.
He tried getting to his feet, but as he pressed one hand on the ground, he saw no hay bales, only uneven stone. A sudden pang of pain throbbed through his head. Damian croaked at the pain. He took his hand to his head, looking up unto the trench wall in front of him. Two guards stood there, their heavily armoured bodies being the stark foreground of the dark and flashy skies. Damian felt sticky dampness behind his head, bringing his hand into his sight as he started getting lightheaded.
He saw blood on his hand as his vision started to blur out. The last smell of wet earth swept into his senses before the world went black. He fell unconscious onto the cold stone surface.
Victor slid the black shirt over his muscular body, the wetness of the rain on his abdomen defining his well-built abs. He lurked around the corner, catching Nathan's attention. Nathan glanced around, stepping out of the line and signalling Victor to head over to him.
"Carry on now" a guard yelled from the other side of the rows. With a quick reaction, Victor darted out from behind the wall, with Nathan following suit as he started running to the corner. When they passed each other, Nathan grabbed the dark blue shirt from Victor's hands. The slaves started marching again and just before the guard came around, Victor stepped into the line and threw the hood over his head.
Nathan gestured with Victory as he pulled on the blue shirt.
Within a glimpse, Victor caught Damian in the corner of his eye as they distantly passed the entrance of the trenches. He saw how Allaric shooed away the guards, helping unconscious Damian by himself.
When Allaric finds out what they planned, he will be furious.
For a brief moment, he marched with the slaves through the regions of the stockade, until they reached the Keep's front gate. He studied the structure. It was vast and resplendent. The stone bricks were the darkest of grey, overgrown with dark moss and ivy plants. It was quite the astonishment. It had large tile roofs and cathedral styled architecture, with many towers protruding from beyond. The sight suddenly got horrifying when he heard a deep creak as the large door to the Keep opened. The door was extremely large, being as high as a defensive stone wall would be. The intricate and ornamental carvings on the door being of Elven artistry.
As he marched with the slaves towards the entrance, he was wondering. Where in this ungodly place would he find the person of interest?
He swallowed a heavy burden, anxious about what might happen next.